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| Director Carla Simón |
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| director on the set |
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Carla Simón with actress Llúcia Garcia |
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| Llúcia Garcia |
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| Llúcia Garcia with Mitch Martín |
ROMERĺA A- Spain Germany (112 mi) 2025 d: Carla Simón
For many people, family is something that is just there, but for me those relationships had to be built. When I was very young, my parents died of AIDS, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. I never took the family bond for granted, I observed their dynamics with a distance not everyone has. Both my biological and adoptive families are numerous: there are many siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts, uncles, grandparents… I have always been surrounded by family. There is deep love, but also a load of wounds, traumas and aspects that are difficult to manage. In that mix, there is a lot of material to tell stories…
I don’t think I would have discovered much about my own family without film. In fact, Romería has ended up becoming a film about the desire to make films, even though that was not the initial idea. It was something that came up while I was writing the script: at a certain point, I realized that the main character should carry a camera. This made her a much more active character. For me it was very natural, because it was all born out of very personal experience. I think the film can be understood, among other things, as a story about the birth of a filmmaker’s gaze.
Romería is, above all, a film about memory and the need to explain ourselves, to find a story that makes sense of who we are. But it also stems from a certain frustration: what happens when you don’t have that story, when no one around you can satisfactorily tell you where you come from? In my case, film has been the tool that allowed me to invent it, to construct it for myself.
—Director Statement from Carla Simón
Your gaze pierces my eyes like a sword
—Tu mirá, by Lole y Manuel, 1976, Lole y Manuel - "Tu mirá" (1977) HD YouTube (2:43)
A stunning arthouse film that resembles the kinds of films seen in the 50’s and 60’s, when European cinema reached its undisputed artistic peak, an era of explosive innovation that birthed not only modern arthouse film, but revolutionized global storytelling. Rejecting the Hollywood formula, these are films that prioritized ambiguity, psychological depth, and philosophical inquiry over more conventional linear resolutions, often using dream sequences or flashbacks to accentuate internalized moods and feelings. Stylistically, this film is much more inventive than anything we’ve seen before from this director, who graduated in Audiovisual Communication at the University of Barcelona before winning a scholarship to the London Film School where she obtained her master's degree. The third and final part of a semi-autobiographical family trilogy that began with SUMMER 1993 (2017), a tender immersion into the world of a newly orphaned six-year-old girl navigating a tangle of confusion after she is sent to live with her aunt and uncle in the Catalan countryside following the death of both parents from AIDS, an experience drawn from her own childhood memories, followed by her second feature, Alcarràs (2022), an earthy, near documentary exposé of a farming family on the brink of change, told in the humanist tradition of Italian neorealism, which won the 1st Place Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival in 2022. In this concluding episode, premiering at Cannes in 2025, the story takes place over five days in 2004, where that same six-year old girl is now eighteen, traveling from Barcelona to Vigo, an inlet port city on Spain’s northwest Galician coast, with a view of the Ría de Vigo, sheltered from the Atlantic by the Cíes Islands, in search of a family she’s never met, revisiting the unresolved questions of her own heritage, uncovering the long-buried secrets behind her parents’ lives and mysteriously concealed deaths, as she slowly learns uncomfortable secrets about her parents’ unconventional life and turbulent past. This quietly understated, much more subjectivized indie film, largely realized by conversations and flashbacks, is mainly supported by visual style and atmosphere in a sea and sun-drenched experience that is full of warm colors, as it aims to recover the legacy of a forgotten generation, part of a Spanish historical memory that deserves to be revisited. Simón uses the revolutionary flamenco music of Lole y Manuel as a vital sonic thread, where the specific concept of the “gaze (La mirá)” aligns with the film’s exploration of memory, perspective, and how the young protagonist reconstructs the fragmented history of her biological parents, using a poetic and emotional connection that also functions as a tribute to flamenco that her parents listened to, featured diegetically (meaning the characters can hear it within the scene), cementing the identity and emotional weight of the family’s past. Adding to the family experience, the filmmaker’s brother, Ernest Pipó’s soundtrack fueled by piercing violin staccato notes adds an element of something bubbling under the surface, Romería (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) (59 seconds).
First and foremost, Simón introduces us to newcomer Llúcia Garcia in her first role, discovered as she was returning from summer camp in an open-air casting call of 3000 young women on the street, who is simply breathtaking in the role of Marina Piñeiro, an 18-year-old orphan attempting to piece together the lives of her late parents through memory, imagination, and fragmented family stories, guided by her mother’s diary, attributed to the letters of Simon’s own late mother, Neus Pipó Simón, which often differs from what she hears from relatives, but helps bridge the gap between memory and imagination, with title cards, one for each day, asking somewhat philosophical questions (“What would I be if my father’s family had raised me?”) acting as chapter headings for her five day “pilgrimage” to Vigo, which is what the title refers to in Spanish and Catalan. An aspiring filmmaker from Barcelona, Marina (a stand-in for the director) needs her paternal grandparents to sign an official document confirming her bloodline in order to secure a film school scholarship (as Simón did), because her father’s death certificate lists him having no children, which could either be an inadvertent error or an indication that his side of the family refuses to recognize her existence. As she is introduced to aunts and uncles, and an army of cousins, she stays on the houseboat of Uncle Lois (Tristán Ulloa), his wife Denise (Celine Tyll), and their three rambunctious sons, taking a liking to the oldest, Nuno (Mitch Martín, aka Mitch Robles, lead singer and guitarist for a 70’s-inspired Madrid rock band The Boston Babies), who is about her same age. Almost immediately, there are contradicting narratives about her late parents, who both died of AIDS when she was a child, Romeria : extrait (Cannes 2025) YouTube (1:21), where each family member only knows fragments of the story, with the memories often contradicting each other, making the truth increasingly difficult to trace, becoming a tale of hidden secrets and discovery. Probing a hidden chapter of Spanish history, it’s important to remember the times, as the end of Franco’s repressive dictatorship in 1975 led to La Movida Madrileña, an underground countercultural movement in Madrid that led to a rebellious, hedonistic counterpoint to the ultra-conservative Catholic society, resulting in prolific drug use, as many people got hooked on heroin, immediately followed by a massive outbreak of deaths from AIDS, which was simply not talked about, as if it never happened, leading to what many have called a lost generation, beautifully documented in the early films of Pedro Almodóvar, especially ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER (1999). This coincides with the youthful period of Simón’s parents, with their relationship happening during that same period of the 80’s, with Spain having the highest rate of AIDS-related deaths in Europe, where it still remains hard for families to accept, as they simply stopped talking about it, so many of those stories have been silenced for decades. Shame continues to reverberate through Marina’s entire family, as the stigma of how her father died and was ostracized continues to linger in their minds and attitudes toward her, with her bourgeois conservative grandparents still seething in resentment and anger, warning their offspring to never touch her blood as she has a “blood disease.” Only her black sheep Uncle Iago (Alberto Gracia), himself an ex-junkie, gives Marina a more accurate depiction of the wild life and early death of her parents.
Carla Simón’s films are deeply shaped by memory, loss, and the emotional afterlives of family history, reflected in elusive family moments that we may never fully understand, where the inherently fragmented nature of memory plays a role, but the main obstacle is the stigma surrounding AIDS, which clouds these memories. To portray the AIDS mass extinction in Spain, the director draws on a ghostly dance at a festival, with dancers covered in white sheets, like corpses, set to the macabre Spanish 1980’s hit Bailaré sobre tu tumba (I’ll Dance on Your Grave) by the Vigo punk band Siniestro Total, Siniestro Total : Bailaré sobre tu tumba ( HQ ) YouTube (3:04). Marina learns her father actually died years later than she was led to believe, while her sternly cold and less-then-forthcoming grandparents, who have never really accepted her (“There are things that are not talked about in this family”), attempt to offer her money to halt her probing, which she refuses to accept, as her primary mission is uncovering the truth, recalling the “memory retrieval” of a recent Hungarian film, Sophy Romvari’s Blue Heron (2025). To fill in the massive gaps left by her relatives’ unreliable memories, Marina reads fragments of her biological mother’s diary and uses her camcorder to reconstruct their past, where the film is an exploration of personal material, drawing from her own family and experiences, while engaging with themes of adolescence and trauma that have been central to the filmmaker’s artistic identity, yet realized through her own distinct aesthetic. There are more visual asides here than previous films, accentuated with a visual beauty and unmatched sensitivity along with a voiceover that keeps the viewer attentive to the story, effortlessly captured through the brilliant cinematography of Hélène Louvart, who has worked closely with Agnès Varda and Alice Rohrwacher, providing poetic flourishes that amaze, including some stunning underwater sequences of naked bodies swimming through the reefs, recalling Helen Mirren’s first screen role in Michael Powell’s AGE OF CONSENT (1969). Quite simply, this is the artist as we’ve never seen her before, a poetic and visually vibrant film, grounded in familiar narrative territory, yet told in such a distinctively different way, where it’s hard not to be drawn to the enticing visual palette. The immensely sympathetic Llúcia Garcia is the dealbreaker, like a young Léa Seydoux, whose intoxicating screen presence drives the picture, giving us a multi-layered performance of a character who is independent and determined. While mostly staying in the background at family gatherings, she isn’t shy about asking about her parents, especially when alone with a family member, and while many of the relatives are hard to decipher as they go whizzing by the screen, like interchangeable parts, she is the one constant that holds it all together, which is why an unexpected, late-film dream transformation is so powerful, and also deeply unsettling.
Often easy to overlook a director with a gentle touch, where this is arguably her most introspective work, Simón’s film only confirms she is one of the most singular voices in European cinema, as the relationship of Marina’s parents is only referred to, a piece of a puzzle that’s hard to understand, for decades clouded in secrecy, but it’s brought to light in the most unusual way, as she has the secret intention of visiting the places where her parents were happy, where the quest for truth gives way to the imagination, the culmination of an existential journey where pain coexists with joy. Of all things, it’s a frisky cat that leads Alice down the rabbit hole, as Marina similarly follows an elusive cat down to the wharf, climbing into a rowboat. At this point, the film’s grounded neorealism evolves into an immersive, dreamlike imagination, as Marina is transported back to 1983, and takes the rowboat to the private island of Toralla. Playing out like a memory poem, Marina meets her parents on the rooftop of the building where they lived together, where a startling realization is that her father is played by Mitch Martín, the actor who plays Nuno, while Llúcia Garcia is transformed into her mother, who is seen with Marina’s father traveling to remote Cíes islands by sailboat, both frolicking naked on the beach, a reflection of their free-spirited love and latent sexual liberation that recalls Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1969), or before that the free-spirited sexuality of Harriet Andersson in Bergman’s Summer with Monika (Sommaren med Monika) (1953), a reminder of how great cinema can be, while also showing unflinching images of their drug use, with the voice of actress Laia Manzanares narrating her story through fragments of her diary. Money becomes an issue, as heroin is not cheap, causing the two of them to become more and more reclusive as they battle with heroin withdrawal. Perhaps the closest films that express that freewheeling, drug-ridden bohemian lifestyle of her parents’ era are Barbet Schroeder’s debut counterculture film MORE (1969), where a young hippie couple’s visit to the idyllic island of Ibiza degenerates into unending tragedies from heroin addiction, or Philippe Garrel’s own heroin-indulgent exploits with his real-life girlfriend Nico from the Velvet Underground in I Don’t Hear the Guitar Anymore (J'entends plus la... (1991), which is also an impressionistic memory piece, darkly moody and self-absorbed to the point of being narcissistic, yet revelatory in its own sensory style. What’s important here is how Marina internalizes everything she’s learned and literally steps into her parents’ lives in the 1980’s, much like Tilda Swinton in Joanna Hogg’s Caprice (1986), opening up a phantasmagorical world that exists only in the imagination. The final flashback sequences in particular, shot in wonderfully grainy Super 8 images, add a gorgeous impressionistic texture, yet this surreal act of remembering gives the film a more personal sense of understanding that she could not get from her estranged family, allowing a deeply imaginative poetry of memory and reconciliation to unfold before our eyes.
